


And We'll Always Have Kanye

by sass_pony



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friendship, Friendship study, Gen, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sass_pony/pseuds/sass_pony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Louis is the kind of person that has always needed friends, and then close friends, and friends that go beyond close friends. There’s friends for different purposes. The friends you call when you want to have a crazy house party, but nothing beyond that. The friends you can sit around and play Fifa with and trade stupid inside jokes and maybe know their families a little bit better than casual acquaintances."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And We'll Always Have Kanye

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely a friendship study of Harry and Louis, from the beginning of The X Factor, to when they stopped being roommates. Also features hints of Larry Stylinson, unrequited crushes, and lots of Louis being generally angsty.

July, 2010. 

Louis is the kind of person that has always needed friends, and then close friends, and friends that go beyond close friends. There’s friends for different purposes. The friends you call when you want to have a crazy house party, but nothing beyond that. The friends you can sit around and play Fifa with and trade stupid inside jokes and maybe know their families a little bit better than casual acquaintances. 

Then there’s those friends that he jokingly likes to refer to as “heterosexual life partners.” The friends that you can call at one in the morning, about anything. The friends that you can laugh so hard with, you can’t breathe. The friends that you can yell random words with, and they join right in, instead of staring at you like an escaped mental patient. The friends that you can spend hours with, that you don’t have to have any set plan with, that you can lie on the couch with watching stupid movies for hours and still have just as much fun as going out. The friends that know every little thing about you, occasionally know you better than you know yourself. 

The friends that you would call if you ever needed help hiding a body, the friends that if an angry gorilla stepped in your path, they would leap in front of you and fight it, no questions asked. 

Yes, it’s part of Louis’ life philosophy that having friends who would fight a gorilla for you is essential. Family is great and all--everything, actually, but friends are important too. People in general, really. People that you know will always be there. 

He’s a people person, and he has loads of friends, but the gorilla fighting friends are few and far between. As long as he’s got one though, for essential moments in his life, he’s good. In high school, and for the past few years, it has been Stan, and now... 

Now he’s holding auditions. He’s embanking on a new chapter of his life. The past few weeks have been a surreal blur, from his first X Factor audition, to getting cut from boot camp, to getting called back in...

And now, he’s in Holmes Chapel, at the bungalow that belongs to Harry’s family, with the other four boys, getting to know them, wondering which one has the potential to be his new gorilla killing compatriot, his second in command. He likes all of them, even though Liam is overly-serious and quiet sometimes, but he needs to know where each of them all stands in terms of friend potential. 

Of course, Stan will always remain his best friend--there’s too much history between them, but Louis is embarking on a new phase of his life, and he needs closeness, something beyond the casual joking around and getting to know you conversations. Besides, it’s good to have more than one friend who would be willing to fight a gorilla for you, because it increases your chances of survival. 

Currently, all five of them are draped over couches in the bungalow. There’s a half eaten pizza on the table, and music playing in the background--Louis had plugged his iPod in earlier and put it on shuffle. 

He taps his fingers against the couch as the Fray song that had been playing ends. Liam is trying to talk about dividing up parts and quite frankly, Louis is bored. He wishes that something would happen--anything, that could shake things up. 

Then he would never admit it, but he’s slightly homesick. He misses the little things, like sitting on the overstuffed couch with a cup of tea and watching football on Sundays. He misses being able to ring Stan up and talking to his mum in the kitchen before she leaves for work and the thick Yorkshire mists in the morning. He even misses Lottie and Fizzy fighting over the bathroom and Daisy and Phoebe begging him to read them stories, though he doesn’t miss the arguments his mum and stepdad seem to be having constantly...

He forces himself back to reality, to pay attention again. After all, he’s supposed to be getting to know the group, not thinking of home.

“What song is this?” Zayn asks, as Louis’ iPod begins to play again. 

Louis grins suddenly. This is the sign he was asking for. 

“Are you serious?” He asks. “You don’t recognize this brilliant classic, this fantastic anthem, this--” 

Across from him, Liam groans as he hears the first verse. 

“The Spice Girls?! Seriously?” He buries his face in his hands. “Ruth and Nicola used to play this nonstop, and my dad threatened to put the CD in the freezer...” 

Louis ignores Liam’s tragic rant. 

“Why not?” He asks. “Everyone needs to have the Spice Girls in their music library. They’re _fun.”_

He’s pleased to see that at least Harry is grinning. 

“Enough talking!” He gets up from his seat. “Liam, you’ve been whinging about practicing, so I declare this dance party time. 90s dance party time.” 

Liam groans again as Louis moves to the center of the room and starts to shimmy. For good measure, he whips his hair around and then lifts his hand, pretending it’s a microphone. He’s used to doing silly things like this for his sisters, and self-conscious has never been an adjective associated with him. 

_“...Stop right now, thank you very much--”_

_“I need somebody with a human touch!”_ A new voice joins in, and Louis grins even wider to see that Harry has joined him. He’s singing in a ridiculous falsetto and puts an arm around Louis as they finish the verse together. 

Eventually, Niall puts down his pizza and joins them, while Liam buries his face in his hands and mutters that this isn’t what he meant about practicing and Zayn sits there with a half amused smile on his face. Harry and Louis end up dancing on the coffee table, doing ridiculous hip thrusts and screaming at the top of their lungs--

_“And I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want!”_

Later down the road, interviewers will ask them how they all became so close, who bonded with who the fastest, what moments stand out. Louis quickly tends to regard most interviewers as obnoxious and smug, so he’ll give either a generic or ridiculous answer--that he bonded with Harry the fastest, but that he doesn’t really remember a key moment, that they just naturally clicked. 

Privately though, he associates the moment that Harry indulged him, actually danced to the Spice Girls with him, as the night he knew that Harry was going to be one of those friends. 

\--

September, 2010. 

“Fluffy!” Louis shouts, ruffling Harry’s curls and trying to make them stand up. “Fluffy, fluffy, fluff fluff, flufalicious...” 

Louis and Harry, plus the other three, are sitting in their room at the X Factor house. They finally have some downtime, which they’ve all learned to take for granted, so of course the best way for Louis to spend these precious couple hours is to come up with ridiculous nicknames for Harry. 

Harry is curled up next to Louis, half laying his lap, and gives him a lazy, amused grin. 

“Am I your fluffy Louis?” He asks. 

Louis nods seriously. “You are my fluffy, and I will call you fluffy, and you will be mine! Check your email for further proof.” 

Harry pouts. 

“That would require getting up,” he points out. “What ridiculous thing did you email me today though?” 

“You’ll have to check and see!” Louis leans in to tickle Harry, grinning as his friend lets out a rather girly sounding shriek of indignation. “That’s the surprise young Harold--” 

“He googled fluffy things.” Liam says dryly. He’s lying in his bunk, studying their music for the first week. “Then sent you a million pictures of-- _ow! Why did you throw a pillow at me Louis?”_

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Louis yells. “A surprise for my fluffy! So he could commune with other fluffys and then they could have a very fluffy bond!” 

Liam rubs his head. 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he gripes. Louis rolls his eyes. He’s grown to like Liam more, but he’s ridiculous sometimes. Especially when he’s in Mr. Serious Musician mode, like now. 

“It’s not supposed to,” Louis points out. He pats Harry’s head again. “Fluffy!” 

He might be imagining it, but he’s amused to see just maybe, there’s a hint of a smile curving around Liam’s lips. 

“Admit it Payner,” he says. “You love Harry and I’s friendship. We add variety and amusement to your life.” 

“And insanity,” Liam mutters. He’s smiling though. “Fine. I will admit that your friendship is occasionally amusing.” 

“The best friendship,” Harry mumbles, half asleep now. 

“Fluffy!” Louis yells again, in mutual agreement. 

\--

October, 2010. 

One of the things that greatly confuses Louis about Harry is how he can be so confident onstage, and yet such a nervous wreck in rehearsals. 

It drives him a little insane actually. Harry is so talented. He lights up when he sings, hits the notes with precision and force and passion and just enough of his own unique signature. Everyone goes on about Liam, but Louis actually thinks Harry is the better performer. He’s a far better singer than himself, and Louis can admit this. He knows where his weaknesses lie, and he’s better at acting and personality than actually hitting the right notes. The fact that he’s even made it this far is sheer luck, a lifeline. 

Harry on the other hand, was born to sing. Louis had even seen him in line during the auditions and thought that while he was going to get cut, Harry would be in the liveshow. He’d been right about one thing. 

They’re singing My Life Would Suck Without You this week, and Louis feels that actually, this week has sucked. Harry had gotten sick due to nerves and caused them to miss a rehearsal, and they’re all nervous about the performance tonight. Louis can’t be mad at Harry for getting sick--they’re all coping with the stress in different ways, but all they do now is perform to the best of their ability and cross their fingers that it’s enough. It’s how Louis has gotten through his whole life actually, crossing his fingers and holding his breath. 

He knows Harry is going to be brilliant as soon as he sees those bright lights, which is why he doesn’t understand why Harry is off hiding somewhere. Liam wants to run it one last time before they go on, but no one can find Harry, and Louis is pretty sure that Liam is going to burst a vein if they don’t locate him soon. 

“I’ll go and look for him,” he volunteers, mainly to get away from Liam, who is actually starting to stress him out. Liam nods and mutters something about time running out, to which Louis rolls his eyes. He’s surrounded by lunatics. 

He does a few laps around backstage, before he pushes open the door to one of the smaller dressing rooms and sees Harry sitting on a chair, face buried in his hands. 

Louis sighs. He suddenly feels like he’s back home again, comforting one of his sisters about how the first day of school’s going to be fun. This is familiar. He can do this, just has to convince Harry to get out there and sing without passing out. 

He crosses the room, and sits down next to Harry. 

“Hey Hazza,” he says lightly. “You know, Liam’s about to have a heart attack if you don’t show up and dazzle us with your angelic voice soon.” 

Harry looks up and takes a shaky breath. He’s pale, and Louis can tell he’s been crying.  He does smile slightly though. 

“Do I dazzle you?” He asks, smirking a bit. Louis and Harry had watched the first Twilight movie for a laugh a couple days ago and hadn’t been disappointed. They’d howled until they couldn’t breathe at all the supposedly romantic scenes of Bella and Edward staring at each other, and then kept yelling “oh Edward!” in high pitched voices for hours afterwards. 

“Always my darling.” Louis puts an arm around him. “Come on. Get up and come sing pretty for all of us.” 

Harry doesn’t look all that encouraged. Actually, he looks like he’s going to be sick. 

“Come on, Harry.” Louis sighs. This is going to be harder than he thought. “We’ve got to run this before we go on, and we’re running out--” 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Harry says in a rush.

“What are you talking about? You did it at the judges house. You did it last week.” 

“It’s just--”Harry takes a breath. “I guess I’ve just realized how much higher the stakes are. Like we don’t know for one second if we’re going to be safe. We could be on top of the world one moment, and back home the next, and I just--I don’t want to go back to my old life. I can’t. Not after experiencing this. I’m just so scared that it’s going to end at any second and one wrong note, on little mistake, one stupid--” 

“Harry.” Louis grips his shoulder. “I say this out of love, but for fuck’s sake. I know this is scary, and stressful, and all a gamble, but isn’t that what life is? One big gamble after another?” 

Harry looks up at him quizzically, green eyes wide, unsure of what to say next. 

“We’ve gotten this far,” Louis continues. “We’ve gotten this far, and all we can do is see what happens next. What I do know, is that if you continue to sit here, overanalyzing yourself and questioning every little thing, and aren’t able to go on, then yeah. It’s definitely over.” 

“I know, I know.” Harry takes another breath. “I know all that, but--” 

“But what? You’re going to sound brilliant tonight, Harry. Besides, there’s adoring fangirls waiting for you outside, all waving signs...” 

There’s another moment of silence. Harry winds one of his curls around his finger. He looks a little less pale, bites his lip, then--

“Fine. I’ll do it for the adoring fangirls.” 

“I knew you would come around!” Louis claps his shoulder. “Besides, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Stop second guessing yourself. You’re Harry Bloody Styles.” 

Harry laughs then, one of his full on grins that lights up his whole face. Louis loves it when he can make his friend smile like that. 

“Harry Bloody Styles,” he repeats, slinging his arm around Louis. “Come on. Let’s get out there before Liam has a full on conniption fit.” 

“I think he’s had about five already,” Louis says dryly. Harry laughs again. 

“Louis?” He says after a second. “Thanks. For coming to find me.” 

Louis shrugs. “Don’t mention it. I regularly talk my sisters out of jitters. It’s just what I do.”

He likes it when he can fix things. 

\--

November, 2010. 

Louis is bored with London, bored with the X Factor house, bored with the constant stream of interviews and photoshoots and having his days regulated with rehearsal schedules. The others are still wide-eyed, taking it all in, but all Louis really wants right now is to get away. He feels like a live wire, about to snap at any second if he doesn’t get a change of scenery. 

What he really wants is to go home. He misses his family. Fizzy keeps sending him whiny yet endearing texts about how boring the house is without him. Not to mention, he’s worried about his parents. Apparently, they’re arguing more and more. If Louis had his way, he’d sneak out and get on a train back to Doncaster, if only for a day. 

Unfortunately, he can’t do that. He’s checked the timetables, and is cursing the length of direction between London and South Yorkshire. He needs to plan a smaller adventure, something that he can do in the early morning and then sneak back in by the afternoon without anyone really questioning where he went. 

Thankfully, he’s a master of planning spontaneous adventures. Once, he and Stan had randomly driven to Edinburgh for the afternoon, just because they were bored. It had been dark by the time they’d arrived, and most of the shops had been closed, but it was all worth it. They had a great story to tell. 

He has a plan now, and unfortunately that plan involves waking up at four in the morning. Some sacrifices must be made, but he has to get out for a few hours.

Now for phase two, he thinks climbing down from his bunk. Operation Wake Up Harry, because what good is an adventure if you can’t share it with someone? 

Harry is resistant at first, but his eyes light up as Louis explains the plan, and he agrees once and for all when Louis agrees to buy him coffee. They move about as quietly as they can, stifling their laughter as not to wake the other boys (Louis doesn’t even want to think about what Liam would say if he knew about this) and tiptoeing down the stairs, out the door, to freedom. 

\--

There’s something about the ocean that has always grounded Louis. He’s loved the water from an early age, loves to watch the waves crash across the rocks and breathe in the salty air. It’s ethereal, rejuvenating, a reminder of just how big the world is. 

He breathes in deeply now, takes a sip of his hot tea. The day is just beginning, the sky’s still streaked with bits of pink and seagulls swoop past. It’s ridiculously picturesque. 

“Does this meet your adventure qualifications?” Harry asks next to him, taking a bite of his sweet roll. They’re sitting on a bench by the ocean, watching the sun glint off the waves. It’s too cold to go in, and Louis is shivering a bit, even in his thick sweater, but it’s still wonderful. Really, it’s just wonderful to be away from London. 

“It’s not Greece or Morocco, but still good,” Louis decides, tearing his eyes away from the water. “Dover will do for now.” 

Harry nods. “We needed to get away. Think the others will be pissed when the others find out we didn’t invite them?” 

“Eh.” Louis shrugs, takes another sip of tea. “Niall might. Liam will bitch at us to no end.” He laughs, then pitches his voice in a passable Liam impression. “I can’t believe you two! I scheduled us to practice for eighteen whole hours today, and now we can only practice for twelve! This is unacceptable! I say unacceptable because I’m a grumpy old man, trapped in the body of a sixteen year old!” 

Harry throws back his head and howls with mirth, his whole body shaking. 

“Glad I could amuse you so much,” Louis says, with a grin. Harry’s still laughing, wiping tears off his cheeks. “I love Liam, but when he gets in that mode, he just needs a banana in the face.” 

Harry is beginning to calm down, but starts laughing again. 

“A banana in the face?” He asks incredulously. “Sounds like some bizarre game show, where the loser--” 

He’s interrupted by the sound of Louis’ mobile ringing. Louis starts slightly, wondering who the hell is calling him at 7:30 in the morning, and is even more surprised when he looks at the name. Lottie doesn’t call him that regularly. Fizzy is more the type to call and whine about her day or send random texts. Lottie only calls when she wants a favor or...

“I have to take this,” he says quickly. “It’s my sister.” 

Harry nods. Louis knows he gets it. One thing he appreciates about Harry is that the two of them have very similar ideas about family. They haven’t touched on it that much, but from what Louis has pieced together, they come from almost the same backgrounds. Parents who divorced when they were incredibly young, hardly-there fathers, and a fierce loyalty to their mothers. While the others had laughed at Louis for talking to his mum for an hour at a time, Harry had told them to be quiet. Then, Louis knows Harry would drop everything if Gemma needed him too. 

He steps away from the bench to talk to Lottie, and comes back fifteen minutes later, feeling decidedly less content. He’s promised his sister that he’ll call again later, when he’s got more time, but he’s still worried. He stares out at the waves, determined not to let another stupid fight between his parents ruin his day. Still. He hates that he can’t be there. Of course, it’s not his job to fix everything, but he just wants to get on a train and be with his family right now. Fuck the X Factor, fuck fame and fortune, and--

Harry nudges his shoulder. “You okay, mate?” 

“Not really,” Louis admits. He debates if he wants to talk about it, takes a sip of his getting cold tea. He could just ignore it, make jokes like usual, try not to think about how upset his sisters are, and how his mum has to comfort all of them, when she’s probably incredibly sad herself--

“My parents got in another fight last night.” He hears himself saying, in a sudden rush. This is too big to bottle up, and he’d admitted to Harry a couple weeks ago, when he was slightly drunk that his parents have not really been the happiest lately. “It was really bad this time. My dad actually left--not left-left, but went to ‘cool his head.’ Lottie was hysterical...” 

His voice trails off again. He stares down at the bench, suddenly wishing that Stan was here. There’s certain friends that you don’t have to explain anything to. Complicated family dynamics are another layer of him, something he hides and rarely speaks of to other people, because they just don’t get it, and then he gets too emotional, and then of course, they’re weirded out, so it’s better to just pretend it doesn’t exist. Stan gets it though, because he’s seen Louis’ family, heard his parents bicker, knows the whole story about his actual dad, and has promised to punch his real dad in the face if he ever has the opportunity. 

“Sorry,” he says, even though it’s not like him to apologize. “I doubt you want to hear about my stupid family problems.” 

“Hey.” Harry puts an arm around him. “It’s not stupid. You’re worried. I’d be worried too. I get it.” 

Louis nods, suddenly feeling relieved. He looks over at Harry, who looks like he’s debating about saying something else. 

“What?” 

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugs. “Maybe it’s not my place to say this, but believe me, I know what it’s like to have a dad that’s a jerk, or not completely there for you when you want him to be. So if you ever want someone to talk to...”

Louis is quiet again for a moment. He watches the waves, suddenly feeling incredibly grateful. He can’t believe his luck, actually. He could have been paired with four bratty, prima donna, insufferable guys, and instead he got people like this. Someone who will both dance to the Spice Girls with him, and who just gets it. Gets the bigger things. 

“Thanks,” he says, softly, moving closer to Harry. He’s getting cold again. “It means a lot.” 

Then, because he’s afraid he’s going to get too sappy, he grins widely. 

“Yeah, stupid dads are the worst. Sometimes I wish there was a store you could go to, you know? Like a store that you could exchange your stupid dad for a great dad.” 

Harry grins. 

“The New Daddy Store?” He asks, laughing again. “Not a bad idea. How about on the way home, we both swing by the New Daddy Store?” 

“Sounds like a plan. To do: Buy more tea, pick up laundry, exchange daddy...” 

This time, it’s Louis’ turn to laugh hysterically. As the waves crash against the rocks, they polish off the rest of their breakfast and discuss the different models the New Daddy Store should carry, then someone how start exchanging stories about their childhood. Louis suggests that there should be a game show called ‘who’s the worst daddy?’ He tells Harry a story that he’s only told Stan before, about how once, his actual dad was supposed to be watching him, and instead got distracted and left him to play in their (not busy but still dangerous street). Of course, he makes it more funny than sad, because that’s what he does, making Harry laugh about how angry his mum had been. In exchange, Harry tells about how once, his dad had left him and Gemma alone at a coffee shop for three hours when he had been six and Gemma had been nine, because of a very important meeting. 

“We’ve got to laugh about this though,” Harry finishes. It’s around nine now, and the sun is shining brightly. “We’d go mad otherwise. That’s what mum always says.” 

Louis nods. “Wise words. It’s very true. If it wasn’t funny, it would be tragic.” 

Another pause. This is how it has been for the whole morning. Swapping ridiculous anecdotes, occasionally deep thoughts, then natural quiet, then another joke. It’s a rhythm, perfectly matched by the ocean’s waves. 

“As much as I don’t want to, we should get back,” Harry suddenly says. “It’s getting late. We don’t want people to wonder where we’ve gone.” 

“Don’t want Liam to go crazy is more like it,” Louis says. With one last look at the ocean, he gets up. “Come on young Harold. We still have the New Daddy Store to visit.” 

He could stay here for the whole day, but they do have a life to get back to. The important thing is, that despite the stress of the next few weeks, despite the fact that his family might be falling apart, Louis’ head feels clear. 

\--

Early December, 2010. 

They’re in the final three. 

Louis can’t believe it. It’s still surreal in some ways. They’re doing home visits this week, have prerecorded the single that’s going to be released if they win. They’re so close. 

It’s late at night, and as usual, he’s with Harry. The others have gone off somewhere, but he and Harry are sitting in the living room of the X Factor house, side by side, messing around on Louis’ laptop. There’s a six pack of beer sitting on the table next to them, purchased (and smuggled in) by Louis earlier. 

“So ideas for the video diary?” Harry asks. 

“I’m not sure yet.” Louis shrugs. “I’m positive something brilliant will come to me though.” 

He taps his fingers on the table, and takes another sip of his beer, debating if he wants to bring something up.

“Have you heard of Larry Stylinson?” He asks suddenly. 

Harry laughs. “Those insane fangirls who think we’re in a secret relationship? Yeah. Liam found something the other day and was traumatized. It was hilarious.” 

“I don’t know if hilarious is the right word for it.” Louis sniffs. 

“Why? You don’t think it’s funny? They’re harmless, mate. Just silly little twelve year olds with too much time on their hands.” 

“It’s our _lives,”_ Louis points out. “It’s none of their fucking business. It just annoys me that there’s all these annoying girls out there, writing treatises on my sexuality.” 

“Treatises,” Harry muses. “Now that is a good word.” 

“You’re missing the point,” Louis grumbles. “Nevermind. They’re just---I like the fans, but not these fans.” 

“That’s the cost of fame.” Harry reaches for his drink. “Come on, Lou. There’s always going to be crazy people. Ignore it if it bothers you so much.” He sniggers. “Though it’s great torturing Liam material. He’d never seen gay porn before, and--” 

“Okay that’s enough.” Louis’ voice is sharp. “I get the picture.” 

He’s thankful that the lighting is dim, hopes that Harry can’t see his face is slightly red. 

“What’s your deal?” Harry asks. “Are you--nevermind.” 

“Am I what?” Louis asks. “Secretly wanting to ravish you?” He laughs, sharply.

There’s a pause. 

“Maybe it’s not my place.” Harry’s voice is slower than usual. “I just think that this is about more than some silly fangirls on tumblr.” 

The next pause is even longer. Louis doesn’t look at Harry for a moment. It has gotten to the point where he considers Harry one of his best friends, maybe even as close a friend as Stan. They’ve talked about almost everything--their families, their childhoods, their dreams. First kisses, and stupid girls that have rejected them. 

Not this though. Not this giant elephant that Louis never wants to talk about, doesn’t even really like to think about. To him, his sexuality is something he likes to keep on the back burner. He’ll deal with it eventually, just...not right now. 

And he the last thing he wants is stupid preteens reminding him that eventually, he will have to confront it. 

“I just like hot people,” Harry is saying now. “Hot people are good.” 

“That’s nice,” Louis hears himself say. He feels oddly disconnected right now, isn’t sure of what to say, how much he even wants to tell Harry. This is something he never talks about with people. 

“When I was sixteen, one of my good friends came out as a lesbian.” Shit. He blames the beer. “Like we all kind of knew it before anyway, but we were all proud of her. Anyways, around the time she came out, I was starting to get the idea that I wasn’t...completely straight myself. I was terrified of the idea of telling anyone though, but when Emily came out, I told my mum about her. Like a good, testing the waters kind of thing, you know? ‘Hey mum, how do you feel about one of my friends being gay?’ And I love my mum, and she means well, but she her response was ‘that’s brave of Emily, but has she ever even kissed a boy? How does she know she hates chicken if she’s never tried chicken?’ I think right then and there, I vowed to be seen snogging girls a little more often.” 

He bites his lip, then downs the rest of his drink. 

“Don’t tell anyone this okay?” He asks, his voice oddly pleading. “Promise? Stan knows, and now you know, but please don’t tell anyone else.” 

“Lou.” Harry scoots closer to him, puts an arm around his shoulder. “Who would I tell? Come on. It’s okay.” 

Louis isn’t one to get extremely emotional--that’s Harry’s thing, and it’s weird that right now, Harry’s the one comforting him, but this is personal, probably his biggest secret, plus he’s a little drunk. 

They sit there like this for awhile, Harry’s arms wrapped around him, as he promises Louis that it’s going to be okay, that the fangirls are stupid and to just stay off tumblr, he can come out when he wants to, and no, he’s not going to breathe a word. At least half an hour passes, before Louis finally says something else. 

“I didn’t mean to waste your evening like this. No more beer for awhile.”

Harry shoves him.

“Shut up, you prat. You didn’t waste my evening. Besides.” He gives Louis a wide grin. “I now know more about you.”

Louis groans. 

“Seriously, Haz--”

“I’m not going to tell! Didn’t I just assure you of that fifty thousand times?” Harry rolls his eyes. “Really though, if it bothers you this much--”

“Can we just pretend this never happened?” Louis buries his face in his hands. “I appreciate you being here for me and all, but I’m done with the confessionals. Putting it on the back burner, staying off tumblr, moving on.” 

Harry nods slowly. He still has his arm around Louis. 

“Want to watch something stupid on the telly?” He asks. “Or look up random people’s numbers online and text them ridiculous crap?”

Louis gives him a wicked grin. 

“The second one. Now we’re talking, Haz. I knew there’s a reason I keep you around.”

“Yup.” Harry agrees, smiling back at Louis. “I’ll always be around.” 

\--

Later that night though, Louis does check tumblr again. And they day after. 

\--

February, 2011. 

“More wine, Luigi?” Harry asks, in a terrible Italian accent. 

“Oh why thank you, my darling Harold!” Louis holds out his glass, as Harry fills it to the top. “How you understand my needs.” 

It’s around midnight, and Harry and Louis are sprawled across the couches of their new flat, starting on their fifth glasses of wine for the night. Liam and Zayn had been over earlier, but they’re both lame and actually _wanted to go to bed._ This is why Louis is glad he’s living with Harry. They’re perfect flat mates. 

The past few months have been even more of a whirlwind. Coming in third, and then getting signed anyway. More interviews, more talk shows, and even more screaming fans. Traveling to Los Angeles to record their new album. Moving to London and getting a ridiculously posh new flat. A ridiculously posh new flat that he now shares with Harry, because it just makes sense for them to live together. They can do things like this--polish off a whole bottle of wine between them, and then sprawl on the couch, saying ridiculous things, while eating a huge bag of Smarties by the handful. The TV is on, a ridiculous reality programme from America that Louis finds hilarious because well, it’s a little unbelievable that people can be so stupid, but they make him feel great about himself. 

“What show is this again?” Harry asks, grabbing another handful of Smarties. 

“Jersey Shore!” Louis says. He lays his head in Harry’s lap. “Hi Fluffy.” 

“Hiiiiii.” Harry drawls out. He starts laughing hysterically then. “Louis, I think I had a lot of wine tonight.”

“I think that is an apt assessment.” Louis is now playing with Harry’s curls. “We are so not sobrieted, my friend.” 

“Sobrieted,” Harry repeats, laughing harder. “I don’t want to get sobrieted right now.” 

“Never,” Louis agrees. “More wine! These Jersey people agree.” He gestures to the television, where Snooki is screaming about how she’s going to get so wasted at a a party. 

“I like her,” Louis says, seriously. “She knows how to live life.” 

He’s pretty sure Harry’s going to die from laughter then, because he completely loses it. Louis shakes his head. 

“I’m serious! She’s amusing. This whole show is amusing. Delightfully trashy, and---who are you texting?” 

“Liammmm.” Harry drawls out, holding his phone up. “Always drunk text Liam. He’s either asleep, or doing nerdy things on his computer. Either way, he’s going to be annoyed, and it will be wonderful.” 

He holds up what he has typed--

**LOUIS TAKES LIFE INSPIRATION FROM JERSEY SHOREEEEEEEEEEE.**

Louis laughs, then grabs his own phone and writes--

**accurate. Harry is the JWoww to my Snooki.**

“Who?” Harry asks. 

“The girls on the show, Harold!” Louis rolls his eyes. “Just trust me.” 

Harry groans. “You actually know their names?” 

“Everyone should know their names!” Louis sighs. “Young Harold, I have so much to teach you. So much. You can gain so much life philosophy from Jersey Shore--stop tickling me!” 

He shrieks with laughter, but manages to text Liam. 

**Harry is beingggggg meannnnnnn to meeeeeeeee!**

Harry finally relents in tickling him to eat more Smarties. A series of texts from Liam come a moment later, to their delight. 

**i dont now what n e of this means.**

**u 2 woke me uppppp, btw.**

Louis and Harry howl with joy. Harry texts Liam a series of random emojis, while Louis writes--

**And I thought my spelling was shit, Payner. ;)**

“Look what I just texted.” Harry holds out his phone, grinning. Louis gives him the thumbs up. 

**PRETTY SURE SMARTIES GIVE ME UNICORN POWERS.**

Liam’s reply comes seconds later later, and it’s the best one yet. Harry and Louis cling to each other, howling with laughter. 

**go 2 bed ffs**

**i knew u and Louis living 2gthr would only led 2 bad thingssssss.**

Louis manages to contain himself enough to send Liam **‘you know you love us xoxo’** because real men quote Gossip Girl. Liam doesn’t text back, so for the next hour, Harry and Louis send him successive sad emojis and go into more laughing fits, imagining how annoyed Liam’s going to be when he sees how many texts he has in the morning. The perfect evening, really. 

\---

June, 2011. 

“My new teacher is _heinous.”_ Fizzy complains. She’s sitting on the counter in Louis and Harry’s kitchen, eating Jaffa Cakes and kicking her heels against the cabinet. “She gives us a whole hour of homework every night. I tried to turn in a maths assignment with just drawings of cows, but mum got mad at me.” 

“A whole hour?” Louis says dryly. “Your life is very hard indeed. Tragic, really.” 

“It’s _heinous.”_ His sister repeats, and Louis can’t help but laugh. Fizzy has a tendency to get obsessed with certain phrases, and then use them constantly for months. For awhile, it had been ‘nah b’ (thanks to the wonders of American television), but this is new.

“Are we going for a more sophisticated phrase, midge?” He asks her then. “Heinous. Good word.” 

Fizzy wrinkles her nose at him. “Don’t call me that. You know I hate it.” 

“I think you secretly love it.” Louis grins at her. Back when he’d been an annoying, far-less-charming than he is now teenager, he’d started calling her ‘midget’ and then shortened it to ‘midge.’ It irritates her, and amuses him, so everyone wins. 

“You’re _so annoying.”_ She grabs another Jaffa Cake. “And mum’s been watching _Law and Order,_ and they say heinous a lot, so I’ve decided that I’m going to say it a lot, because it’s a good word. Especially for my new teacher, because she’s the _most heinous.”_

“The most heinous?” A new voice joins them. “Well, that’s not good.” 

“Harry!” Fizzy jumps off the counter and hugs him. “Why weren’t you here the second Lottie and I arrived? That’s extremely heinous of you.” 

“Sorry Fizz.” Harry laughs. “I had an interview at Radio 1. I rushed home as soon as I could.” He grins at her. 

“I guess I’ll forgive you.” Fizzy sighs. and Louis fights back a laugh. Along with getting attached to catchphrases, his little sister also gets attached to certain people. She often has very strong opinions on who she likes and doesn’t like. If she doesn’t like you, you’re doomed, like her poor teacher, but if she likes you, then she never shuts up about you. Such is the case with Harry, whom she’s deemed her “most favorite” of the boys. Louis doesn’t blame her though. 

“Where’s Lottie?” Harry asks then. 

“Being emo in the bedroom.” Louis says, shaking his head. His little sister is the definition of ‘moody annoying teenager’ right now. His mum had asked if she could send the girls down for the weekend because a) they miss him, and b) she’s about ready to sell Lottie on EBay. Louis loves her, but after being around her for two hours, he can understand his mum’s predicament. He’s trying not feel guilty for not being there to help more, because really, it’s understandable why Lottie has been so upset lately. 

“She’s _heinous_ too.” Fizzy says. “Ow! Don’t shove me, Louis.” 

“Don’t be mean about Lottie then. Even if she is annoying.” 

“You don’t have to live with her!” Fizzy wrinkles her nose. “She’s _so_ annoying. She keeps whinging to mum about how much she misses dad, and I want her to shut up. Dad’s a stupid jerk. He made mum cry. I’m glad that he’s not around. He keeps wanting me to hang out with him, and I just tell him I’m busy.” 

Louis can’t help but laugh. He puts his arms around his sister then. 

“Between me and you kid, I have to agree.” He shakes his head. His sister’s ridiculous sense of justice and loyalty is one of his favorite things about her. Sometimes she seems much older than her age. Then of course, she gets in screaming fights with Lottie over what to watch on TV or who gets the bathroom next, and she’s right back to being his little midge. 

Harry meanwhile, is fiddling with the radio, trying to find a good song to listen to. He makes a face as ‘All of the Lights’ starts to play. 

“So sick of this song,” he groans. 

“How can you be sick of _Kanye?”_ Louis asks, giving Harry a shocked look. “Don’t you dare change it! This song is meant to be played far louder, and danced to.” 

“The Kanye!” Fizzy starts laughing. “That’s what my friend calls him. She says he’s so important, he must have a ‘the’ in front of his name. The Kanye is the best.” 

A new verse is starting, and she adopts a ridiculously posh sounding accent, and begins to dramatically intone--

_“Restraining orders, can’t see my daughter, my mother, brother, grandmother, hate me in that order...”_

Louis is amused to see that Harry is at least laughing now. He’s so easy. All you have to do is adapt a funny voice or say something random, and Harry is gone. Fizzy is encouraged further, because she keeps going, as Harry laughs more and more. 

“You Tomlinsons.” He gasps out. “You’ll be the death of me. Harry Styles, dead from laughter.” 

“Not a bad way to die.” Louis pauses. He’s in the middle of singing too. 

“And damn it, I like this song now!” Harry continues. He’s even humming along. 

“The Kanye!” Louis dramatically intones. “No one can resist the Kanye!” 

And that’s how the three of them end up buying the song, plugging in Harry’s iPod and listening to it over and over again, while dancing in the kitchen and yelling ‘the Kanye, the Kanye’ while tears of laughter stream down their faces. Even when Lottie comes out of the bedroom to yell at them to be quiet, they don’t stop. 

\---

December, 2011.

Harry’s moping again. Living with him, Louis has come to learn that Harry is a person of extreme emotions. Of course, he knew that already, but sharing a flat with him really drives the point home. When Harry’s happy, it’s infectious, and unfortunately, the same is true for when he’s in a bad mood. It sinks into his entire being. Even his curls seem flatter, and then he has a tendency to skulk around the flat in pajama bottoms, only emerging to get more cookies. Then he shuts himself in his room, listening to awful music that Louis thinks sounds like fifty crying cats. 

The worst thing is that when Harry gets in one of these moods, there seems to be nothing he can do, nothing he can say to fix it. It’s like Harry needs his time to do his little tortured artist act, and then emerge two days later, after he’s brooded enough to make the Romantic poets look sane. 

Louis is sick of it. He wants to go out, and wants Harry to join him, but Harry’s in one of these stupid moods right now, probably because of Caroline, and has shut himself up again. 

Louis sighs, and knocks on Harry’s door. He’s getting him to go out, damn it. 

There’s silence, then--

“What?” Harry sounds sulky. Louis can hear his dreadful music too. He pushes open the door to Harry’s room, determined to stay cheerful. 

“Now that’s no way to talk to your bestest friend!” He sits down on Harry’s bed with a little bounce. “Come on, Haz. You’ve been moping for two days. Caroline’s not worth it. Turn off that music and let’s go out.” 

Harry sighs moodily. 

“Don’t want to go out.” 

“So what? You want to sit here and have a pity party instead?” Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re my adventure friend, Harry. There’s a whole world out there, of clubs and parties and music that doesn’t sound like this.” 

“Sound like what?” Harry narrows his eyes. “What’s wrong with Joni Mitchell?” 

“Everything!” Louis raises an imaginary microphone to his mouth, and begins to sing in a horrible high pitched voice--

_“Everything is miserable and the whole world is crying and I am sad and--_ hey! Don’t throw a pillow at me!” 

“Look.” Harry sighs again. “I just need a couple days, okay?” 

“It’s been a couple days,” Louis points out. “It’s been like four days. Of continuous moping.” 

“Well you haven’t been the most supportive,” Harry snits. “You just ask me if I want to get drunk and change the subject when I try to _talk_ about things.” He sticks out his lower lip a little bit, eyes big, grabs another pillow and hugs it to his chest. 

Louis throws up his hands. 

“I don’t know what you want from me Harry.” He snaps, jovial attitude suddenly gone. “I’ve tried to make you feel better, but I’ve got my own problems. My mom’s going through a _divorce,_ and I miss her like crazy, but do you see me sulking around? No.” 

“This isn’t about comparison!” Harry gives him another wounded glance. “It’s just--”

“Nope.” Louis sniffs. He turns on his heel, and gives the hair flick he’s started to adapt with annoying interviewers. “This conversation is stupid and I’m done. Going out to get drunk, because that’s how I deal.” 

He slams the door behind him, ignoring Harry’s “hey!” as he does.

What he hates more than anything, is that he can’t control this. Harry is intent to star in his own tragic movie, and he wants him to stop, wants them to go out and be ridiculous. Harry can’t let every little thing get to him, especially not with the levels of famous they’re getting. He’s going to go insane otherwise. 

In the past few months, Louis feels like he’s gone from an idiot schoolboy, to an adult. Adults deal with their problems, don’t hide in their rooms and play sad music and cry for days. They don’t have time for ridiculous heart to hearts or endless analysis of their insecurities. No. That’s teenager garbage, and he’s moving on. Unfortunately, Harry doesn’t seem to be on the same page.

He doesn’t have time, he thinks. He was serious about having enough problems in his own life to worry about Harry’s crap too. He can no longer console him and tell him he’s wonderful every time his friend feels down, even though that’s what Harry seems to want, seems to thrive on--

...He’s overanalyzed this too much already, he decides, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the top of the refrigerator and texting Niall. He’s always up for a party. Plain and simple. 

\--

January, 2012. 

A few days later, Louis is sitting in on the couch, when Harry flops down next to him. 

“Hiiii,” he drawls out, looking at Louis with big eyes. They haven’t talked much over the past couple days. Louis hasn’t liked it. It’s felt weird. 

“Hey,” he says, not completely sure whether to be friendly or not. On the one hand, Harry was annoying as shit the other day, but on the other, he’s just so, so ready for things to get back to normal again. For drinking wine and handfuls of Smarties and stupid video cams and drunk texting Liam, and laughing about nothing. 

“Want to watch _Grease?_ ” Harry asks slowly. 

Louis shrugs. 

“Sure.” He says. “I thought you were going to suggest _Eternal Sunshine_ or some other godawful pretentious movie.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Harry starts fiddling with the remote. “Besides, I’m in more of a _Grease_ mood tonight.” 

“Okay.” Louis gets up. “I’ll get the wine.”

He ruffles Harry’s curls as he passes. 

“Kiss and make up, Fluffy? I guess we had our first real fight. Was bound to happen sometime--what the hell are you eating?” 

“Meringues.” Harry says, his mouth full. “I got them at the bakery down the street. They’re lovely.” 

_“Meringues?”_ Louis shakes his head, looking at the sweets with some disdain. “You get more pretentious by the day.” 

“You would like them!” Harry shoves the box at him. “Try one. It’s a make-up gift, I guess.” 

“I’ll stick with wine and Smarties.” Louis says. “Can’t let it get to our heads too much.” 

He ruffles Harry’s hair again, as his friend protests and throws a pretentious candy at him. 

\-- 

February, 2012.

It’s around seven at night, and Louis is sitting reading some gossip rag on the computer--he doesn’t know why he does this, really. The more he reads, the more he wants to punch the people who are insisting that he and Harry are in a secret relationship in the face. The bottom line is, it’s none of their fucking business. 

He’s an affectionate person, but it makes him want to be a little more self-conscious about how he acts around Harry in public, and he hates this. 

He checks the time on his laptop. Stan’s train is getting here in an hour--his best friend is coming down for the weekend, and Louis is excited. He hasn’t seen him since Christmas. 

Sometimes, he worries that the two of them are going to drift apart.  They’ve known each other since they were fifteen, but they’re at different places in their lives. Stan’s at university, and Louis is well...a popstar. Stan whines about course modules, and Louis whines about insane fangirls, and he worries this is going to cause a rift, that all they’ll have in common is that they met in high school, so they have to remain friends for the sake of that. 

Then Stan will send him some ridiculous text, or they’ll start laughing on the phone until they can’t breathe about something that makes no sense except to them, or begin debating about the football season, and Louis will shake his head, wonder why he ever worried in the first place. There’s some friends that no question about it, will be your friends for life, as cheesy and ridiculous as it sounds. 

He notices he has a new text on his phone then and groans as he reads it. _Damn it._ Train to St. Pancras delayed for two hours. He lets out a moody sigh. More than likely, Stan won’t be in London until eleven. He was hoping they could go out tonight, but that probably won’t happen. Especially because Harry’s being lame again and is exhausted from this week. He’d collapsed in the bedroom earlier, with orders not to wake him unless something was burning.

Louis drums his fingers on the couch, looking for something--anything to entertain him. The internet is boring him. Looking he around, he notices that stupid candy Harry’s gotten obsessed with lately, and decides he might as well give it a try. 

Five meringues and two glasses of  hard cider later, Louis is feeling very pleased with the world. He eats another meringue, laughing to himself. They’re surprisingly delicious, even if they do have an obnoxiously pretentious name. Harry was right. It’s a shame he’s sleeping, because his friend really needs to be informed about this--

Wait.

Harry had said not to wake him unless something is on fire, but Louis has never been one to listen well. He bounces up from the couch, grabbing another meringue for the road. Harry will be annoyed at first, but then amused, he decides, pushing open the bedroom door and then starting to shake Harry awake. 

“Harry.” He whispers. “Haz. Wake up.” 

“Huh?” Harry whispers blearily. “Louis--what?” 

“Harry!” Louis says gleefully, grinning at him. “Harry, I ate some of your meringues!” 

He decides to pronounce it with a hard g, so that it sounds like “meran-gey.” His pronunciation is better and more hilarious anyways. 

“Okay?” Harry mumbles, closing his eyes. “It’s meringue, by the way.” 

“No.” Louis shakes his head. “Meran-gey, Haz.” 

Harry groans.

“Please go away and let me go to sleep. I beg you.” 

“Noooo!” Louis says, laughing. It’s been forever since he’s had this much sugar. “That’s not the whole story either. I had one meran-gey, and then I had two, and then I had three, and then I had four. Oh and then I drank some cider. Meran-geys and cider! Greatest combination ever. Also, you need to come to St. Pancras and keep me company. Stan’s train is delayed and I’ll positively die of boredom otherwise.” 

Harry rolls over. 

“I’m not going to St. Pancras,” he mutters. “You’re insane.” 

Unless Louis is severely mistaken though, he sees the hint of a smile cross his friend’s lips. 

“You love me.” He starts to bounce on the bed. “Come on. What’s more fun. Meran-geys and cider, or sleeping?” 

“Sleeping.” Harry sits up though, stares blearily at Louis. “Also, you ate my candy?” 

“That’s irrelevant information.” Louis waves his hand. “The important thing is, you were right! They’re delicious! Now get up and you can have some too.” 

Harry flops back down, groans again.

“Meringues and cider!” Louis chants, laughing. “Meringues and cider! Meringues and cider and keeping me company! This is my song about meringues and cider and--”

“Fine.” Harry sits up again, swings his legs over the bed. “I’m getting dressed. Just to get you to shut up.”

“You’re laughing.” Louis accuses him. “You can’t even hide it. You’re amused by this. If you weren’t, you’d be telling me to fuck off.” 

“I’m not amused.” Harry starts rifling through his closet. “You ruined my beautiful night and ate my candy.” 

“Yeah but you’re smiling.” Louis points out. “You’ve got to learn to lie better, Haz.” 

He starts to sing again, and in a few minutes, Harry can’t help but join him. By the time they leave for the train station, they’re arm in arm and singing “meringues and cider” over and over again, doubled over in laughter until they can hardly breathe. 

 

August, 2012. 

Louis is exhausted. The tour has actually taken it out of him, and now all he wants to do is sleep forever. He and Harry have gone back to the flat for a few days to regroup, and then will be heading to their respective homes for a week long break. Louis can’t wait. 

Right now, he’s sprawled out on the couch, lazily scrolling through his computer and wondering when Harry’s going to be done with whatever phone conversation he’s saving. He can occasionally hear Harry’s voice drifting from his bedroom, and it’s slightly quicker than usual. 

A few moments later, Harry emerges. He’s doing that weird creased brow thing he always has when he’s nervous, and looking at him, Louis notices that his eyes are slightly red. 

If this had been two years ago, when they had way more free time on their hands, Louis would have been far more willing to console him, talk it out. Now, he just wants to order takeaway and watch stupid shows and then sleep. 

So there’s a moment of silence, as Louis turns on the television. Harry doesn’t seem to care much for this, as he lets out a soft little sigh. 

_For fuck’s sake._ Louis thinks. People say he’s the drama queen. Harry, when he wants to be consoled, is worse than a needy puppy. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, offhandedly, still watching the TV screen. There’s some rubbish rerun of Hollyoakes on. He fiddles with the remote, then is relieved when the next channel reveals an episode of Criminal Minds. Bless American programmes.

“It’s nothing,” Harry says quietly. “Watch your show.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll text Gemma.” 

Louis lets out an exasperated sigh. 

“It’s just--I wanted my dad to come down and see the flat,” Harry says. “He’s never really been before, but of course, he’s busy.” 

Louis bites his lip for a moment. He really wants to turn up the volume. He doesn’t have time for this right now. He’s so tired, and family drama counselor is the last thing he wants to be (he already does this enough for his own family), and-- 

“What do you want me to say Harry?” He asks, still watching the screen. Emily Prentiss is interrogating the suspect while being a general badass and honestly, way more interesting than his friend right now. “That sucks? At least you’ve got the possibility your dad will come and visit in the future.” 

There’s a moment of silence, broken only by the shots of gunfire from the television. 

“Some of us aren’t that lucky,” he finishes tartly, flicking his hair and turning up the volume. 

The next beat of silence is even longer. Harry stares down at his hands, while Louis pretends to be absorbed in the show. He feels guilty, but really. He’s not Harry’s fucking therapist either. They’re all rich enough to have their own money to pay for that now.

“Since when did this become a competition?” Harry finally breaks the silence, then never a fan of conflict, stands up after this retort. “I’m going out. Liam invited me over.” 

Of course Harry is running to Liam for comfort now. Louis rolls his eyes again. 

“Oh what?” He calls at Harry’s retreating back. “Were you expecting that we’d eat ice cream and watch Gilmore Girls and cry about our problems? So sorry to disappoint.” 

The self of two years ago is shocked at this statement (and Louis secretly loves Gilmore Girls and might have watched all the seasons with his mum a few years back), yet his present self doesn’t care enough to be that sorry. 

He dials for takeaway, as the front door slams. 

\--

November, 2012. 

Louis doesn’t remember exactly when Harry starts to hang out with Nick all the time, but what he does know is that he doesn’t like Nick. Everything about Nick infuriates him, actually. Everything from his aloof attitude, to his insistence that all pop music is terrible, to the stupid shoulder patches on his jackets. 

When Harry falls for new friends, he falls hard. He becomes infatuated with them even, puts them on a pedestal. They can do wrong. They’re hilarious and insightful and brilliant and every other positive adjective that Harry can think of. 

Louis was fine when it was him that Harry talked about all the time, but now it’s Grimmy this and Grimmy that and oh isn’t Grimmy funny and isn’t Grimmy coming with us tonight? Louis definitely doesn’t want Grimmy coming with them. Actually, Louis wants Grimmy to fall into a deep pit and never return. Maybe a deep pit with snakes for good measure.

The problem is, Grimmy is here to stay, because Sir Harry has deemed it so. Then, as their fame grows, as the rumors concerning Harry and Louis and their shared flat intensify, Harry seems to be spending more and more time around Nick, leaving Louis to sit in the flat, watching Skins reruns, eating way too many Dairy Milk bars, and texting Stan, while feeling more and more like some demented housewife. 

Then, the publicists are hounding him again, as they’re fond of doing. Get more photo-ops with Eleanor, have Eleanor come down to London, drive the Porsche up to Manchester, convince the public that yes, you are completely in love with girls and one girl in particular, even though she happens to secretly be your best friend’s girlfriend. 

This is the kind of friend Stan is though. It’s pretty much killing a gorilla for him, in a metaphorical sense. They had both met Eleanor two years ago, and Stan had liked her, and there was no obligation for him (or for Eleanor, actually) to go along with the ridiculous media ruse, but both of them had, after signing papers and purging photos and social media accounts. It’s absurd, really, but Louis isn’t ready for the alternative either. When he’s in a ridiculous boyband where the main fanbase is teenage girls, it just doesn’t make sense. 

 Deep down, despite his hair flicks and eyerolls, Louis is a people pleaser, wants to be liked, wants to be universally adored, even. So for now, this is the less complicated route, which is ironic, because it’s so, so complicated, with only the label and Stan knowing and keeping secrets from his family, and all of those wonderful things. The point is, that this is why whenever Louis goes back home to see friends, Stan gets the really good presents. 

Also, he’s not even going to think about how the label has suggested (well, even Eleanor has suggested) that he should move out of the flat, get a place by himself, because maybe then, some of the ridiculous rumors and speculation will stop. Louis seriously doubts this, because well, fangirls are fucking insane. 

And lately, things have seemed even more distant with Harry. They still joke, but there’s more pauses, more long silences, more moments where some nights, they sit in their respective rooms, with things left unsaid. 

There’s also the issue of Nick Fucking Grimshaw, Sir Shoulder Patches of the Bloody Fucking Hipsters himself, Louis thinks, sighing angrily. It’s getting late and he should be going out, not brooding like an idiot, but here he is. 

He scowls at his mobile, where Harry has informed him that once again, he’s going out with Grimmy, and switches to another episode of Skins. At least Tony and Michelle can make his relationship issues look semi-sane. 

\--

December, 2012. 

“What are you watching?” Harry asks Louis. He flops down on the couch and in the process, scatters cookie crumbs on the sofa. 

Louis used to think Harry’s constant habit of trailing crumbs was endearing, but now he just casts a side eye at the cookie. To add to his bad mood, Harry is now wearing one of those stupid shoulder patch blazers. 

Obviously, he’s not in a very good mood. Publicists keep hounding him, more photos with Eleanor, get a new flat, blah blah blah, the usual. For once, he actually wants to be left alone, but Harry’s a fragile little snowflake and will give him that lip quivering look if he snaps, so he might as well attempt conversation. 

“How I Met Your Mother,” he replies. Skins is just too depressing right now, he needs some Barney Stinson wisdom. “Old episodes from season one.” 

Harry nods and looks at the television. A moment later, a grin lights up his face. 

“This episode is brilliant. I love Sweet Taste of Liberty.” 

“Yeah.” Louis nods.

There’s a quick beat, a pause. Harry stretches out on the couch, looks at the TV again. If this was a year ago, they’d be sitting next to each other, not across the room, eating handfuls of sweets and plotting ways to drive Liam nuts. Amazing how much can change, so quickly. Louis actually thinks he’s hung out with Liam far more than Harry lately. 

“Remember when we marathoned all the seasons of this during X Factor?” Harry says after a second, almost cautiously. “And decided that you’re totally Barney in this episode, and I’m Ted?” He laughs. “You have a crazy plan, I somehow end up going along with it...” 

Louis knows that Harry is trying to make an effort, trying to repair the gulf that for some reason, just keeps growing, for reasons he doesn’t even fully know, but suddenly, before he can even stop himself, the words come out, like so often lately--

“I wouldn’t say you’re Ted. You’re Marshall, nervously wringing your hands at home and baking. Liam can be Ted.” 

He might as well have told Harry to go fuck himself, because the look on his friend’s face says it all. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever be Marshall,” Harry says, standing up. “But okay.” 

He leaves an hour later, to go out with Nick. 

Louis makes a call to ask about real estate listings. 

At this point, it makes no sense to even try.

\---

January, 2013. 

“So that’s it,” Harry says quietly. He turns to look at their old kitchen, which is completely empty now, and freakishly clean. The other rooms are like this too. 

“That’s it,” Louis echoes, nodding. 

“The end of an era,” Harry agrees. “Lots of good times in this place.” 

His voice is wistful, soft. 

There’s so many things Louis wishes he could say, wants to say right now. That he’s sorry, that he wishes it could be different, that management and PR can go fuck themselves, that he’s so, so, so sorry he’s been such an ardent ass the past few months. He just wishes he could fix everything, with a snap of his fingers, or the right word, but life doesn’t work like that. 

 Looking around the flat, which is now void of their possessions, save for a few boxes, makes it all the more real. 

“I’m sorry I said that you weren’t the Ted to my Barney anymore,” he suddenly blurts out. 

Harry had looked contemplative and sad a moment ago, but now, he bursts out laughing. 

“That’s what you apologize for?” 

“I know it hurt your feelings.” Louis shrugs. “It seemed appropriate.”

There’s another beat of silence, like they’ve been having so often between them lately. 

“Things are less simple than they were.” Harry says, after a moment. “It’s okay. Fame sucks in some ways.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Louis nods. “Actually, is there any alcohol left in this fucking flat?” 

Harry bends down and starts to look through the boxes--filled with odds and ends from the kitchen. “There could be. And don’t call our flat the f-word. That’s rude.” 

“One last drink,” Louis says, rolling his eyes at Harry’s last point. “One last drink in this flat, to commemorate it all.”

“That’s oddly poetic,” Harry muses. He holds up a couple bottles. “And we’re in luck. Vodka, some very flat soda, and Pimm’s. Not sure how old these are, but...”

“High living.” Louis laughs. 

He fetches two plastic cups from the kitchen, and pours half a shot into each. They clink glasses and throw them back together. It’s sharp and old and burns Louis’ throat, but it seems right for the moment. 

“To the flat.” Harry says, pouring them another. 

Louis nods, sits down on the floor, motions for Harry to join him.

“To the flat,” he agrees. “And all it entailed.” 

They sit there for several hours, finishing off the bottle, trading old memories. At some point, Harry starts to play his iPod, then groans when “All of the Lights” starts.

“Are you groaning at _Kanye?”_ Louis accuses him. He shakes his head. “Unacceptable, Harold.” 

Harry grins at him then. 

“You haven’t called me that in forever.” 

Louis choses not to reply, hums along to the music instead. 

“Remember dancing to this with Fizzy?” Harry asks suddenly. “And how she insisted on calling him The Kanye?” 

“How can I forget that?” Louis laughs. “That was a good day. I think we played that song like fifty times. Lottie was furious.” 

“That was a great day.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment, humming to the music, tapping their feet slightly. Louis feels pleasantly drunk, even happy. The vodka helps him forget that he’s leaving this place, this place that has been so important in his life for almost two years, that he’s still locked into ridiculous shams with PR, that he was an ass to one of his closest friends, just because of his anger toward the fangirls and management and his own lack of courage and who knows what else. 

“Lou?” Harry asks suddenly. 

“Hm?” 

“Do you think it will ever be like it was? Like Dover and dancing to Kanye and meringues and cider?” 

Louis doesn’t know how to answer that. Maybe? He thinks. Maybe someday, when he can finally be brave enough to admit what he actually wants, when management leaves them alone a little more, when they can actually have freedom to live their own lives? Maybe them getting their own places will actually be good, they can come together and laugh like they used to, without getting sick of each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies so much...yet Harry’s quirks are also what Louis loves about Harry, as annoying as he can be, but he’s going to miss Harry humming to himself as his friend cleans on Saturdays, and baking scones just because he wants to, and curling up to watch TV--

He’s drunk. 

The thing is, Harry is a reminder, a constant reminder of what could be, and that’s why right now, Louis has to leave. 

He looks over at his friend again, who’s smiling with drunkenness too, who looks so hopeful and earnest, that Louis just can’t say no. 

“Well one thing’s for certain, Harry.” He scoots closer to his friend. “We’ll always have Kanye.” 

It’s a pathetic attempt at a joke, a reminder of simpler and better times, but at least Harry laughs. 

“We’ll always have Kanye,” Harry echoes, putting an arm around Louis. “And no matter what, no matter how much of an insufferable, high maintenance, prima donna princess you might get, I’ll always be around.” 

He kisses the top of Louis’ head, as Louis protests that he’s not high maintenance, Harry’s the high maintenance needy one, and Harry just shakes his head and laughs.

They sit like this for the rest of the night, falling asleep shoulder to shoulder, as the iPod continues to play. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
